


The Struggles of Being Emily

by Zanecole421



Category: Original Work
Genre: Amnesia, Confusion, Diary/Journal, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 01:33:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11887119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanecole421/pseuds/Zanecole421
Summary: Imagine waking up every day to discover your life isn't what you think it is. It's 7 years since you developed amnesia and everyday you have to re-learn who you are. All you have is a diary and your parents word. That's the struggle of being Emily.





	The Struggles of Being Emily

Every day starts the same for me. Well, I suppose every day starts the same for everyone. Alarms going off, birds chirping, parents yelling; that kind of thing. Mine starts with an alarm and a diary. I know what you’re thinking, typical girl, keeps a dream diary, figures. No. 

Though it feels like a dream diary when I read it; it’s not. It’s the story of my life. It feels like a dream diary because I don’t remember anything it says. Nothing. 

The diary tells me I suffer from anterograde amnesia. It tells me that I had an accident a long time ago and everything that has happened since the accident I don’t remember. It says I wake up every day thinking it’s September 6th, 2010 the first day of secondary school but it’s not. It says it’s a different day in 2017. It also says if I don’t believe it read back through the diary and I do. 

Each entry is so detailed it feels real but I can’t believe it. I don’t remember it. How do I know it’s not some cruel joke? Then like every day (according to the diary) I fling it away; run downstairs to my parents and question them about it. 

They sit me down gently and I can see they’ve done this too many times – their eyes are sad and full of pain – and they tell me what the diary said is true. That it is 7 years later then it should be; that my older brother moved out 3 years previously because he couldn’t do this every day; that all my friends are now in college moving on with their lives; that I am now 18 not 11. They hold me as I cry because whatever your parents say is true, right? And I’m still mentally 11, that’s the mind I wake up with every single day. 

They tell me that we came up with the diary idea together. They say that they were going to do it at first then decided I should do it; make it seem realer if it came from me every time I woke up. I ask about school, they say nothing, I ask again more forcefully; they say they gave up on that idea 6 years ago. I wouldn’t remember anything I learned tomorrow anyway. I nod slowly tears threatening to fall but I hold them back, knowing my pain is nothing compared to theirs. Because they remember. Every. Single. Freaking. Day. 

I go back to my room, curl up on my bed, hug Mr. Cuddles (a teddy bear I’ve had since I was born, there’s no danger of forgetting him at least) and cry. After I run out of tears, I pick up the diary and finish reading the latest diary entry. 

_Hi Emily! It’s you! Well, you won’t remember writing this but oh well, I’ll get right to the point. We suffer from anterograde amnesia. That means we can’t remember anything that happened after a certain event. That event being getting hit by a car on our way to the first day of secondary school. Do you remember how excited we were? Of course, you do. You were feeling that excitement before you read this diary._

_I know you won’t believe these next words because I didn’t believe them either. Read the other entries if you want to. I did, they helped. Don’t be too hard on mum and dad, they tried their best to help us. Medicine hasn’t advanced that much compared to what you remember!_

_Today’s date is April 7th ,2017 not September 6th ,2010 like you think it is. You’re 18 years old. Ryan moved out. I know you remember him as a skinny, spotty 13-year-old but he’s 20 now. He’s grown up a lot, I think it was our accident that did it but don’t tell mum and dad that. Carla, Lottie and Becky are in college now. They grew up without us but to us they’ll always be our best friends. I’m sorry if the page is splotchy now, I didn’t mean to cry. You’ve probably already done that. Ha ha. Anyway, nan misses us but says she can’t see us otherwise she’ll get depressed because there’s nothing she can do to help. I’m sorry but how does she think we feel? Sorry I’ll stop. I just get angry about it all sometimes you know? The world has moved on but to us it will always be September 6th, 2010 but it’s not._

_Sorry sorry. I should take that out but I’m not going to. When you see mum and dad though act like you didn’t read that._

_I’m supposed to write about everything that’s changed so you won’t feel out of it but honestly, I don’t see the point. You’ll just forget it anyway. Mum will make you do another entry tonight for the us of tomorrow but if you think about it; every day for us is only 14 hours of pretending we’re okay. Wake up at 8am; go to bed at 10pm after finishing this off. Our life is clockwork. But that clock doesn’t carry on, the moment we go to sleep it resets._

_You know we have the same dream every night? We stopped writing it down when we realised. If you haven’t read the other entries yet you won’t have known that. Spoiler I guess. Ha._

_Every single day is the same. We wake up, our world implodes, we cry, we read the diary, we act like a zombie for the next 13 hours pretending we’re okay when we’re not for mum and dad’s benefit, we pray tomorrow will bring a cure but it never does. We sometimes ask to see Ryan, we run from him as we don’t recognise him, he cries when that happens, we hug but it feels wrong. Sometimes we go out for the day; people that know Ryan say hi to him but we have no idea who they are. We have no idea where we are, the outside world has changed a lot. Too much._

_The park isn’t the same, the swings are gone, the sand pit filled in, there’s a new climbing frame; well it’s new to us, not new to the world due to all the rust on it. The park was our favourite place and know it feels tainted. Tears prick in our eyes again. A stranger asks if we’re okay, you tell them to go away, the stranger’s eyes fill with tears now as well and you notice the tell-tell scar on her cheek; you failed to recognise Carla – your best friend. You wonder if Lottie an Becky still think of you, if they remained friends after your accident._

_The shops are different, the houses are different, EVERYTHING is different, you ask to go home. You cry on your bed (again; noticing a pattern here?). You gather yourself together, you write in the diary (what I’m doing now, the you of yesterday) whilst you think “what is the point?”_

_We all know, you know, I know, the us’ of the past and the us’ of the foreseeable future know that we’ll all forget tomorrow._

_Yes, the diary was a good idea to begin with but each day is practically the same there’s no point in it now. If you’re reading this because this is the latest or because your re-reading. Nothing will change. I hate to be so melodramatic but it’s true._

_That’s the struggle of being us. The struggle of being Emily is that we always forget. We will never move on or grow up, we will forever be 11. When we look in the mirror we don’t recognise ourselves! Go on, do it. Look in the mirror on your cabinet. Your room is completely the same, so is the house; you probably didn’t notice until now. You still thought it was September 6th, 2010._

_Did you jump when you saw your reflection? I did. I think all of us did. Even ‘Day After Emily’ because of all the bandages and scars._

_I hate being us. The only good thing though is that I won’t remember thinking that but tomorrow when I – I mean you – look at this page you’ll look at it and think “why did I write that?” Then you’ll go through your day and realise what I mean._

_But then we’ll just forget about it tomorrow._

_Emily Tucker: April 7th ,2017_

I put the diary down. I don’t bother to re-read the rest of the diary. I know it will all sound the same. The me of yesterday sounded ready to give up and a bit venomous. I do too after reading what she – I wrote. But I still hold on to a slim bit of hope – half of me knowing it is pointless – that tomorrow I will wake up and remember something; _anything_ from today. 

But as always, I go through the day pretending to be happy – a zombie; like the me of yesterday said – 12 hours after I finished with the diary. I say no to seeing Ryan. I say no to everything, I can see this makes my parents worry but I don’t think I can do it anymore. I eat food, I watch TV not knowing any of the shows playing or what my parents find so funny about certain things, I’m clueless with the news and the music channel. What happened to the music channel?! I don’t know how to work anything in the house; all the appliances are shiny and new and have too many buttons. Things in the cupboards have moved and since when was our fridge so big? I have to sit down for a while. My parents don’t even realise I was gone. 

I go to write in the diary after my mother’s urging. I write one sentence for the me of tomorrow. 

_There’s no point in writing anything; it’s already gone by the time I (you) read this._

_Emily Tucker April 8th , 2017_

I do my normal bedtime routine. Brush teeth, wash face, make bed, change into pyjamas, etc. I get into bed; I close my eyes and wait. Not for sleep. I wait for the forgetting. I know I won’t feel it and I know I can’t stop it but still being awake feels like I can stop it. 

And anyway; tomorrow I’ll wake up and do it all again.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? 
> 
> Would you like to see more? If so comment and I'll see what I can do.
> 
> Comments, reviews and criticisms are appreciated!


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